


The Company of Thieves

by BadWolf303



Series: When Larry Met Freddy [11]
Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 08:29:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12250710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadWolf303/pseuds/BadWolf303
Summary: Freddy's not usually the type of guy to enjoy the company of thieves.





	The Company of Thieves

Freddy's not usually the type of guy to enjoy the company of thieves.

Okay, that's not entirely true. It should have been a fucking sign that before he and Larry even gave into motherfucking temptation, Freddy was having a goddamn good time on this undercover mission. He laughed with these assholes, he even liked them.

And that was before he went and fell in love with one of 'em.

So, really, it shouldn't be a big surprise that he's having a good time drinking beers and shooting pool with the other guys. Joe called a meeting, because Joe believed Freddy's lying ass on Larry's word, and with the new plan--new rendezvous--in place, well, dogs will be dogs. Even crooks need a night on the town.

The cherry on top of the whole ordeal is that Orange knows their bartender quite intimately. Orange didn't really think he'd be back much to this dank ass bar when all's said and done--so what's the harm in a quick suck in the back with a bartender who didn't ask Orange his name, and Orange sure as shit didn't care enough to ask either.

The bartender remembers though--Freddy is a good suck, okay?--and Larry ain't stupid or blind. Freddy doesn't give a fuck about the bartender, not when he's got Larry, not when he's got something real for once, but he does give a fuck about the looks Larry keeps giving him. Those ones that say, "you're fucking mine, kid, and I'll kill that other mothefucker."

Freddy can't help it. He's a sucker for some good old fashioned jealousy. Especially when Larry can do fuck all about it right now, in front of all the guys and Joe; Freddy fucking loves a good pent up fuck.

He can't help that either.

All in all, it's a good fucking night. Better than a little rat like Freddy should be allowed to have. Better than any cop should enjoy with a bunch of robbers. But Freddy's gonna worry about that later, tucked safely in Larry's arms. He'll allow himself a moral crisis when he's feeling loved. For now, fuck it all. Freddy hasn't had a lot of really good nights, and this one's been one of them, and just...fuck it. The bartender wants his cock, and Larry wants his everything, and Mr. Brown is telling a stupid ass joke that made beer come out of Freddy's nose he laughed so goddamn hard, and Mr. Blue is slapping Freddy's back to keep him from choking on it, and even though Nice Guy Eddie and Mr. Pink are shaking their heads at how ridiculous he is, not a single one of these guys has called him too skinny, too faggy, too Freddy for any of this.

Not a single one of these guys has done anything but accept him into their fold, and fuck it. Freddy lights another cigarette and orders another beer. The bartender tells him it's on the house. Larry walks by and pinches Freddy's armpit, and Freddy giggles because this is too fun. This is all too good. And Larry settles next to him, solid and big, and though the other guys are too macho to think anything of it, the bartender gets the message loud and clear.

Freddy belongs to someone. He fucking loves that, too.

The problem happens when Nice Guy Eddie is telling Freddy--well, telling Orange--to tell the rest of the boys the commode story, and suddenly all eyes are on him, and Freddy has to get into the role, has to play his part. Which is fine, he's fucking good at this, but there's a reason guys like him go undercover alone, there's a reason he's not allowed to tell nobody about it. Larry is standing next to him, solid and strong and supposedly safe, and, yeah, they've gotten through the big fucking hurdle of Freddy's betrayal, but still, Larry's been lied to, and Freddy hates reminding him of that.

He doesn't wanna put on this act in front of Larry no more. Not when Larry knows everything's bullshit. Not when Larry knows him too good. Not when Freddy is still fucking scared as shit this is all gonna blow up in his face, because he's a rat and a liar and in some fucking alternate universe, Larry probably shoved that gun in his face and blew his brains all over.

"They don't wanna hear that fucking story." Freddy tries to wave it off. "So fucking stupid."

"Stop being an asshole and tell the story," Nice Guy Eddie says. He turns to Mr. Brown. "You are gonna love this shit."

Funny thing is, Freddy knows Mr. Brown probably fucking would. He'd eat this shit up; most of them would. Most of them did. It's a good fucking story, but it's all bullshit, it never happened, and Larry knows it didn't happen, and Freddy's a fucking joke and a fucking liar and he doesn't want to be either of those things in front of Larry anymore.

Mistake number one: Freddy glances at Larry. Mistake number two: Freddy feels heat in his ears as they turn pink. He's heard about guys undercover getting compromised over a hot piece of ass--getting some chick pregnant or blowing their cover 'cause they couldn't handle sleeping alone. Freddy didn't think he'd ever have that issue. Relationships were for better men, for manlier ones, for straight or at least not-closeted ones.

Boy was he wrong. And happy to be, until right now.

Jesus fucking Christ. He managed to keep Larry from blowing his head off, managed to keep Joe off his scent, managed to get this fucking job in the first place, but here, in a little hole in the wall bar, his stupid fucking heart is going to get him fucking bent because of that stupid fucking commode story.

Someone bumps his shoulder, and Freddy realizes it's Larry. "Tell the goddamn story, kid," Larry says, with a smirk that makes Freddy smile back and breathe a little easier. "You're an impressive little shit."

Freddy...isn't sure how to take that, but Larry's kinda beaming at him like he's a proud pop watching his kid win whatever the fucking crook version of a spelling bee would be. So, fine. "Okay, okay," Freddy surrenders. "I'll tell the fucking story."

So he tells the fucking story. And Mr. Brown, pardon the pun, loses his fucking shit, and launches into his own rambling tales of his pothead days. Once you get that guy going, he really doesn't shut up, so Freddy figures he's safe for now, and excuses himself for the real commode.

He's washing his hands when Larry walks into the bathroom behind him, and Freddy looks at him through the mirror. "I ain't sucking you in here," Freddy says. "I've got standards."

Larry closes the door behind him and crowds Freddy at the sink. "Like hell you do. I saw the way that fucking bartender looked at you. You blow him in here?"

"You jealous?" Freddy bats his eyes.

"You're such a little shit, you know that?"

"So I've been told."

Freddy lifts himself up to perch his ass on the sink, and Larry steps between Freddy's welcoming legs. They don't move to do anything else; anyone could fucking walk right in. But Freddy wraps his arms around Larry's neck anyway, and just enjoys the warmth and solid bulk of him. Larry's hand moves to Freddy's backside, and, fuck, maybe the location ain't exactly romantic (it's kinda damp and stinks of shit and puke, if Freddy's being real) but Freddy isn't in a hurry to go anywhere.

"I'm sorry man," Freddy says, cringing a little.

"What the fuck for?"

"I dunno. Having to put on a show, I guess. Having to lie in front of you." Freddy plucks at Larry's shirt, imagining the man underneath as he picks off lint that isn't really there. "Having to be the little rat you almost killed."

Larry grips Freddy tighter, moving almost uncomfortably close, the bathroom sink hard under Freddy's ass and Larry strong and solid in front of him. "I was a fucking monster that night, okay? I'm never gonna be that monster with you again."

"You're not a monster." Freddy whispers. "You do what you gotta do to survive."

"So do you," Larry says. "That's all that commode story is, baby. You fucking surviving."

Freddy grows quiet and still, except for his hands that grip so tightly around Larry's shirt, he'll probably never get the wrinkles out. He wants to lean up and kiss Larry's stupid mouth. He wants to wrap his legs around Larry's big frame. He wants to fucking bury himself in Larry.

He doesn't do any of those things. Instead, takes a deep breath and asks, "Do you think you'll ever fall in love with me?"

Larry jerks back, as if Freddy slapped him. "What the fuck are you saying? You know I fucking love you."

"No I mean..." Freddy takes another breath. "You love Orange. He's the guy you wanted to spend time with. He's the guy you got to know, the crook you got to pal around with. And I'm...I'm just Freddy, man. I'm just fucking Freddy."

Larry stares at him. Larry stares at him and doesn't say anything, and the silence stretches on just as thick as the stink of the bathroom, the gross little bathroom that they've really got no business spending this much time in together anyway, with the rest of Joe's guys (and Joe) right outside at the bar, with the rest of the world still breathing a little too closely.

"You felt like a fucking stranger when we were at Joe's today," Larry says. Freddy frowns, because he doesn't get it. They rehearsed what Freddy was gonna say. They ran through it, they decided together. He just did what he was supposed to, and it worked, and why would that make him a stranger?

"I kept trying to find Freddy underneath all that Orange shit," Larry says. "I fucking hated it. And not because you were lying. That was actually goddamn impressive. Maybe even a little bit of a fucking turn on."

Freddy would laugh if he were capable.

Larry sighs heavy and deep, and leans his head forward to press against Freddy's. "I don't give a fuck about Orange. It's all you, Freddo. I fucking love you. And if you ask me anything like that again, I'll fucking shove your head in one of these toilets."

Now Freddy does giggle. He's not...he's not completely convinced, because Larry's loved him since he's confessed, and before that he was Orange, but he feels lighter. "What did Joe say to you when he got you alone?"

Larry just shrugs. "Nothing for you to worry about, baby."

"What did he say?"

Larry reaches his big hands to hold Freddy's face. He holds so tightly, it kinda fucking hurts. But Freddy can't say anything else, can't look away.

Of-fucking-course it's then that the bathroom door starts to open, but Larry isn't having any of that shit. They don't know the guy that walks in, but Larry fixes him a fucking glare that could make a good man drop dead. "Back the fuck out right now," he says.

And the man fucking listens. Freddy's fucking impressed.

He slides down from the sink, because that was clearly a sign they've spent too much time in here already, but Larry doesn't move from his space. "Where do you think you're going?"

"We're gotta get back out there, man," Freddy says. "We've been in here a long fucking time. Guys are gonna notice."

"Then let them fucking notice," Larry says, blocking Freddy's escape. "You're upset. I'm taking that personally, so let me fix it."

Freddy sighs before he succumbs and lets himself lean forward into Larry's body. Larry's arms immediately wrap around him. "It's been fucking weird today," Freddy says. "I feel fucking weird."

"We haven't had to be Mr. White and Mr. Orange around each other in a while," Larry agrees, his hands rubbing up and down Freddy's back. "But that don't mean any of this has to change just 'cause now we gotta leave your disgusting little apartment and be those guys."

Freddy giggles, which makes Larry hold him closer.

Freddy really could get fucking used to this. "I feel like I've been undercover all my life."

"I've been running just as long, kid."

"Will you stay the night again tonight?" Freddy mumbles the question into Larry's chest. He feels like that weak little twink for asking it.

But Larry just chuckles. "Your apartment might be disgusting, but it's sure as shit nicer than my motel." He pulls back and winks. "Company ain't bad, either."

Freddy relaxes, sinking further into Larry's embrace, pressing his nose into Larry's shirt and letting the scent of Larry overtake the scent of the dirty public commode.

"Come on," Larry says after a moment. "It fucking reeks; let's get the fuck out of here. I'll buy you a drink."

Freddy pulls back, and he's resisted too long, okay, so he reaches for a kiss. It's short--they're barely being careful as it is--but it settles somewhere inside of Freddy, warm and comforting and safe.

Freddy smiles as Larry tries to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt. "You don't gotta buy me a drink, you know. My buddy the bartender's got my back."

"You shut your fucking mouth," Larry threatens, unable to hide his smile.

They go back out into the bar, and Larry shoves at Mr. Pink when he asks "What took so long, did one of you fucking fall in?" He orders Freddy his drink, and ignores Mr. Pink's questioning gaze.

Freddy chooses to ignore it, too, as Larry hands him a beer and pulls the pack of cigarettes right out of Freddy's pants pocket to take out cigarettes for the two of them. Mr. Blue and Nice Guy Eddie are arguing over the ball game on the TV, and Joe is telling everyone he's getting the fuck out of there, and that they'd all better fucking behave while he's gone.

Freddy stays close to Larry the rest of the night, letting himself relax and enjoy the company.


End file.
